


The Name Day Gala

by L_Durven



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25927621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_Durven/pseuds/L_Durven
Summary: The archives are a sprawling expanse of all sorts of information: sorceress diaries, enrolment histories, account charts. Tissaia isn’t sure what her old students were even looking for, or if they ever found it, but she does know they found her records. She nearly scowls (well, she might be a little) while remembering the furtive glances in her direction. The way they bowed their heads together. Their whispers. Their plotting.And here she thought they were merely gossiping. This was far worse.(A one-shot short revolving around Tissaia's 250th name day and the ensuing gala that she never wanted)
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 17
Kudos: 70





	The Name Day Gala

She taps a finger irritably against the nail of her thumb. It’s a tic that is easy to conceal within the flowing sleeves of her dress, but tonight, it does little to soothe her. Her other hand reaches out to snatch a glass of wine from a passing tray.

Tissaia de Vries is _not_ impressed.

It is true that Aretuza can be a bit on the drab side, so any sort of ripple in the norm will result in some sort of event. This is no surprise. If she is quite honest, she doesn’t mind the galas or the banquets of Thanedd. She doesn’t even mind going into the nearby village to watch her peers partake in drunken revelry with the locals.

But what she does mind? _When it revolves around her_.

The archives are a sprawling expanse of all sorts of information: sorceress diaries, enrolment histories, account charts. Tissaia isn’t sure what her old students were even looking for, or if they ever found it, but she does know they found _her_ records. She nearly scowls (well, she might be a little) while remembering the furtive glances in her direction. The way they bowed their heads together. Their whispers. Their plotting.

And here she thought they were merely gossiping. This was far worse.

It took them two entire weeks before they downright cornered her to announce her 250th name day gala was just around the corner. Not her name day. _Her name day gala_. The one they planned behind her back while she wasn’t even aware they knew it was coming. _Honestly_.

And yes, she knows it is a big milestone for a mage. But no, she doesn’t particularly care. She would have been content curled up in her chambers - alone.

Now here they are. Music and drinks and fancy little hors d’oeuvres. And people. So. Many. People. Too many, in fact. Tissaia resists the urge to run away - or attempt to. She is sure someone will catch her if she tries. Her ire is only lulled by wine, but her sour mood is pulling ahead in this impossible race. She can’t drink much more without risking having to crawl herself back to her chambers. Tissaia has never over drank at any event, not even as a youth, and she’ll be damned if she starts another quarter millennia with that under her belt!

So her tic comes out full force, and she taps her thumb to each finger to try to distract herself. Vilgefortz interrupts her stewing to ask for a dance. _Spirits, she doesn’t want to dance with anyone!_ But she nods and smiles and returns to her thoughts. Why did she agree to this? Because it was already planned and she had no choice? Because it was expected of her? Because they had sent Triss (sweet Triss) to coerce her? Because it would have been rude to not show up? Perhaps she could subtly light the tapestries on fire. 

She realizes that Vilgefortz has said something to her and she has no clue what it is. _Damn it._

A familiar magical signature enters the hall, and more than one head turns along with hers. Spirits almighty. Even Yennefer is here. The raven-haired beauty takes the steps with grace - of course she does - her aura crackling dangerously despite there being no impending battle. Her being late isn't surprising, but her showing up is. And from what she's heard (and experienced once) Yennefer going to an event rarely ends well. Despite this, something in Tissaia nearly sings at the sight of her. Something in her is thankful (and a little excited, she'll admit). Even though their relationship is rocky at best, she finds herself forcing down the smile that threatens to split her face. It's been a long time since they've seen one another.

Careful, she warns herself. She schools her face into a neutral welcome. She forces it to hold as Yennefer's eyes land on her. The younger sorceress starts to make a beeline that cuts straight through the dance floor.

“Ah! Vilgefortz! Forgive me, I must steal the Arch Mistress for but a moment.” And then, because Aedirn's sorceress has no sense of propriety, she literally grabs Tissaia and moves them away from the dance floor. She grabs both of her hands, which strikes her as odd, then plants an airy kiss on each cheek before backing away.

“Happiest of name days,” she offers with a crooked smile, though it looks almost feral with how her violet eyes glitter. “This is quite the shindig. I hope you are having a _wonderful_ time.”

“So glad you could make it,” Tissaia retorts, and it comes out flat and nearly sarcastic, even though it is not meant to be.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” And then she's gone in a swirl of skirts, leaving Tissaia feeling a bit deserted. There's a crumpled piece of paper in her hand though, and curiously, she peels it open and almost chokes.

_Tug your earring if you need me to rescue you._

She searches the room for Yennefer, who has already made it across the hall to mingle with Triss and Sabrina. The girl has the audacity to wink at her. Tissaia rolls her eyes, making sure that Yennefer can see, and crumples the piece of paper. She mutters a spell and it bursts into a small flame and disappears.

It's only half an hour before she finds herself frowning again. She has just escaped Stregobor, and knows she has maybe thirty seconds before she is approached. Is a little peace and quiet in a corner too much to ask? Ah - there he is. Vilgefortz is headed straight for her. _Again_.

Her hand reaches up to her ear and she hesitates, but then she tugs. Part of her tells her that Yennefer won’t even be paying attention, but as if on cue, there is an explosion but a moment later that rocks the entire room. Rainbow coloured smoke billows out from near the punch table, and the gala falls into a chaotic panic. While the guests rush to see what is going on, a warm hand grabs her own and she is being pulled to the exit.

“Come on!” She feels a spell shimmer over them, and as a result, no one looks their way as Tissaia is practically dragged out of the hall at a full sprint. Because the spell is never meant to last long, it drops halfway up the first set up steps.

She doesn’t know why she allows Yennefer to continue to lead her as though they are being chased. She is downright appalled at their behaviour. Tissaia lumps herself in (grudgingly) because she knows she can put a stop to this, but doesn't. Maybe it's the thrill of it coursing through her. She wonders if this is why Yennefer acts out so much. Why the younger woman just doesn’t seem to give a damn about what people think.

They don’t stop until they’re two floors up and halfway across the tower. They’re about to cross paths with at least two oncoming people, and instead of oh – _maybe stopping and pretending they’re supposed to be there_ – Yennefer yanks her so roughly onto a balcony exit that she mildly wonders if her shoulder is still in its socket. She’s pressed roughly against the wall on the other side, which hides them both out of view, and as the voices draw nearer and pass, they literally hold their breaths. Yennefer has her bottom lip pulled between her teeth and her eyes are absolutely dancing in mirth.

As the voices fade, Tissaia doesn’t speak. She doesn’t know what to say. She can’t very well bite out a scathing remark to Yennefer, who is still holding her against the wall. She knows that whatever expression is creeping through her neutral façade is no where near reprimanding.

They continue to stand in silence, breaths coming in short and heavy now, trying to catch up to what they lost in their hasty escape. And then Yennefer is leaning in closer and Tissaia feels her breath hitch. Yennefer’s lips are but an inch away, and she is looking at the Rectoress with unmasked desire. It's a look she has seen before, but one that she has never imagined would be directed at her. It's powerful and overwhelming, and Tissaia realizes that she is not entirely opposed to the idea of Yennefer’s attention.

“Stop me,” Yennefer whispers, and the words brush over Tissaia’s lips and make her shudder. Yennefer has always just taken whatever Yennefer wants - repercussions be damned. So why the hesitation now? A moment of vulnerability passes over the younger sorceress' face, and it's a look that Tissaia imagines is only for her. She doesn’t stop her though, and doesn’t push her away. In fact, Tissaia’s fingers wrap tighter against Yennefer’s sleeves. It may be her that so lightly brushes their lips against one another, but it's definitely Yennefer that deepens it.

Yennefer’s lips are impossibly soft against her own, and an explosion of pleasure rips through her and fills her entire being with delightful, tingling warmth. Her hands skim up along Yennefer’s shoulders and her fingers thread through silken curls. The kiss turns into something entirely different; Tissaia can feel their chaos respond and entwine. It is terrifying and wonderful and for a moment, she wants nothing more than to succumb to it.

It takes two attempts to fully disentangle themselves from each other. Yennefer strides over to the edge of the balcony and leans against it, looking out over the water. She doesn't look back, but she doesn’t run. So when Tissaia pulls herself together after a series of internal arguments - most of them telling herself to calm the hell down - she approaches the other woman and just stands beside her silently.

“I got you a gift,” Yennefer finally says, almost shyly. “I came across it a few months ago and um, it made me think of you.” She pulls out an intricate looking tube and practically shoves it into Tissaia's hands. “It’s a puzzle tube. Getting it open is supposed to be the fun part. The middle has a scroll that will tell you all about the tribe I got it from.”

Tissaia takes it in her hands and turns it over, examining it.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did you get it?” The smile that breaks across Yennefer’s face is absolutely brilliant, and the Rectoress feels her cheeks colour. Yennefer doesn't need to say anything: she's thrilled to have presented something that Tissaia knows nothing about.

“It’s a secret. But I heard it takes months to get it open. If you're lucky.”

“Have you done it?”

“Uh, do I look like I have the patience to tinker away at one of these? For months?” Tissaia turns it over in her hands once more, then tugs at one of the small gears that give a solid clink and whir. She twists and pulls and looks it over again. _Intriguing_.

“Shame," she finally says, almost carefully. "And here I was going to ask you to maybe help me with it. But if you’re too impatient...” She hears the way the words slip from her mouth, the way it _implies_. 

“Rectoress! There you are!” The tube disappears up Tissaia’s sleeve and she arches an eyebrow at Yennefer and smirks before turning away. The teasing expression is wiped clean from her face.

“Ah, Triss. Perfect timing. I was just speaking with Yennefer for a bit. We can head back.” Triss smiles widely at her friend, and waves. She doesn’t say anything about finding the Rectoress hiding from her own party several floors away. Yennefer nods and raises a hand in friendly greeting, but says nothing more and doesn’t budge from her spot. Though she acts oblivious, Triss is anything but, and she disappears into the hall to wait for the Rectoress. 

Tissaia takes the opportunity to grab Yennefer’s arm and pull her towards her.

“Thank you for the gift. It was very thoughtful. And I meant what I said about helping me with it. Despite the headaches you cause me, I have missed you, Yennefer.” It’s unlike her to admit such things, and it has its desired effect. The younger woman audibly swallows, hard, and inhales deeply through her nose. Yet she pretends otherwise that Tissaia’s words have little effect.

“Well. Perhaps I’ll stick around and we can discuss me… visiting more... in the morning.” Tissaia’s eyes do not stray from the entrance, but she doesn’t miss how a shudder dances through Yennefer as she tilts her head up, her breath ghosting along an ear.

“I’ll only be an hour more.” She says nothing else, but makes sure Yennefer sees how her gaze rakes over her. Then she releases her and moves to catch up to Triss. The sound of her heels against stone is the only noise and it echoes until she is through the entrance and back into the hall. They are already descending the steps when she feels Yennefer reaching out.

**_Wait! My chambers or yours?_ **

The Rectoress doesn’t try to hide the smirk that plays at her lips, and though there's a handful of replies that flit through her mind, she ends up only humming back in reply. She can feel Yennefer's aggravation in return. Though tempting, she doesn't fold, and she spends the next hour wondering if Yennefer will come to her. Tissaia will be damned if she lets the younger woman have the upper hand. _Yet._

When she approaches her chambers an hour later, Yennefer is leaning against the door, arms crossed and watching her approach. Her intentions are written all over that beautiful face of hers, so much so that it practically radiates from her. They are _not_ going to work on the puzzle tonight, she muses. 

Tissaia also can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, her name day wasn't so terrible after all.


End file.
